


Guys Screw Around

by HYPERFocused



Category: HUGHES John - Works, The Breakfast Club (1985)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Blow Jobs, Boys Kissing, Detention, Drug Use, Father-Son Relationship, High School, M/M, Sports Metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-22
Updated: 2005-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 04:15:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1630985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HYPERFocused/pseuds/HYPERFocused
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hey, I screwed around.guys screw<br/>around, there's nothing wrong with<br/>that.  Except you got caught, Sport.<br/>Andrew/John<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Guys Screw Around

**Author's Note:**

  * For [duckgirlie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/duckgirlie/gifts).



> Written for duckgirlie

 

 

John Bender was a punk. John Bender was a punk. A foul-mouthed, classless lout who didn't give a fuck about anyone or anything besides pissing people off, and making sure they stayed away from his dope. And Andrew Clark was a dope for still thinking about him, three weeks after their detention together. Why he was wasting his time on the jerk was beyond his understanding. At least, he didn't want to understand.

He should have been thinking about Claire, perfect pink Prom princess that she was, or even Allison, who was, yeah, fucked up, but cleaned up even prettier. And yes, he genuinely had grown to like Allison (even as he'd grown to dislike Claire), but none of that mattered.

It was John fucking Bender, with his fingerless gloves and hands Andrew bet were callused and scarred, and probably smelled like smoke. John fucking Bender with the too-large nose and expressive dark eyes that probably wouldn't close when Andrew kissed him. He was a rule breaker that way, Andrew was pretty sure. It was John, with hair so long Andrew's dad would call him a fairy -- never knowing the truth about his own son -- that kept Andrew up at night.

Kept Andrew's hand wrapped around his own cock twice, sometimes three times a night until he woke up sticky and sore. Until he dragged himself to school exhausted, and lied to everyone about why. He had to tell the coach he'd been training extra hard for State, but he was pretty sure Coach hadn't believed him. "Your team and your grades are more important than the ladies, Champ," he'd said. Andrew had laughed and said "Yeah, sorry."

Someday soon, Andrew knew, he was going to flake out in a match, and everyone would know he was a fraud. He was no All-American jock hero.

Andrew wasn't proud of himself. Not for what he knew he was inside, nor for the way he had to hide it. What he and his so-called friends had done to that poor kid in the locker room still made him a little bit sick to his stomach.

But how could he have done anything else? There was no way he could tell them what he'd really been doing. How close they'd come to catching him with his dick down some freshman's throat. It would have been cool if he'd been with a girl, but no.

The first time he'd been approached, he'd made a show of acting offended, shoving the guy away when he put his hand on Andrew's thigh. The thought scared the hell out of him. Nobody was supposed to know.

But then the kid had called him on it, saying "You aren't fooling everyone, you know." So Andrew had said fuck it, and let him push Andrew into the corner, and held onto his soft, wavy hair as the kid -- pretty expertly for a freshman -- went down on him. He'd even managed to reciprocate with a quick hand job.

That had been fun. But it had been more action from opportunity than a real attraction. John was different. He had looked at Andrew like he knew Andrew wanted _him_. Like he wasn't going to shut up about it if he didn't fucking feel like it. Luckily, Andrew was pretty sure he wouldn't want that kind of news spread. He had his own reputation to protect, and a father who probably really would kill him. Sometimes Andrew thought they had that too much in common.

It was Saturday morning again, and this time Andrew didn't have a match. There was a standing appointment almost nobody knew he had, but he was going to keep it this time.

John Bender had slipped the joint into his pocket one day in the hall, the word "detention" written in tiny print on the paper.  
Andrew didn't smoke, much, but he knew when an invitation couldn't be refused.

Well, he could refuse. He'd done so for the past two weeks, but he'd finally decided it was a waste of time. He wanted John, and knew it was mutual. And what better way to piss off his dad, even if it was in secret. He'd know he was rebelling. That's what was important.

It was easy to slip into the library after Vernon had left John alone in there. He slid in past the magazine shelves and dictionaries until he was directly behind John, who was listening to a contraband Walkman.

He tossed a wadded up piece of paper at him, until he turned around and grinned at Andrew. It was disconcerting.  
"It's about time, Jock-boy. I was beginning to think you really were a wuss."

"I could tape your buns together, asshole." Andrew countered, not at all angry.

""How unimaginative. I was sure you'd have a better use for them than that. You could do that to any freshman."

Andrew swallowed hard, imagining the possibilities. "We can't.--"

"We can do anything we want, Sporto. Nobody's going to come in here for at least an hour." John shook off his own coat, then began unzipping Andrew's letter jacket. He unbuttoned Andrew's jeans next, and then his own.

Andrew had been right, kissing John was incendiary, and when John held onto his shoulders and groaned as Andrew squatted under the desk to suck him off, Andrew nearly came in his own jeans. It was uncomfortable, cramped and tasted weird, but it was incredible. John was hot and thick and strong in Andrew's mouth. When he came, it felt like the best kind of wrestling victory, like he'd beat someone three weight classes ahead.

John didn't have to do much to finish him off later. It was lucky, because they didn't have as much time as John had thought. There were footsteps approaching.

"Hey, if you get caught, they'll just give you detention," John pointed out as Andrew hurriedly pulled his stuff together and slipped out the back.

There were worse fates to be had.

 

 

 


End file.
